


oh my my, baby don't be shy

by ballsdeepinjesus



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, as per usual, harry and louis are dads, harry is a big dumb baby, nothing but fluff i'm so lame, older hl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballsdeepinjesus/pseuds/ballsdeepinjesus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry waves back shyly and looks away, toeing his boots along the hardwood floor. He’s 31 and a boy is making him nervous. He scrunches up his eyebrows and scoffs. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>He’s 31. And there’s a boy. Screw it.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>He’s not entirely sure the best way to attract the attention of an adult at a gathering of teenagers. The DJ switches the song to one he loves, an upbeat number about living life to the fullest or something endearingly cliche like that. So he doesn’t really think his next action through. He dances.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>[harry and louis meet at their daughters' valentine's day dance]</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh my my, baby don't be shy

**Author's Note:**

> all of this fic was inspired last night from [this gifset](http://cheerleaderharry.tumblr.com/post/84108202589) and 3+ years worth of harry's awful and endearing dancing. fluff!!!

It’s the night before his 32nd birthday and Harry is in a crowded gymnasium surrounded by hyperactive 13 year-olds; because of some conflict of scheduling, his daughter’s school’s Valentine’s Day dance has been pushed forward to January 31st. Harry should be at home crying in front of the television, drinking grape juice in substitution of wine and lamenting over his own loneliness and mortality, but instead he’s watching awkward almost-teenagers try to navigate the fragile realms of personal space. Life’s funny that way, he supposes.

He’d signed up to be a chaperone in a misguided attempt to try and keep an eye on his daughter. Five minutes into arriving, he’d realized there was no need to protect Raina from any grossly overeager boys. She was hanging out in a circle with her girlfriends, laughing merrily and drinking punch, studiously ignoring the approach of any spotty-faced boy. At least one of them is having fun.

He doesn’t mean to be so _grouchy_ over everything, but he’s getting older and he still hasn’t found someone to Love. He’s been single for almost the entirety of Raina’s life -- not for lack of trying; he’s been on many failed dates and even some brief casual relationships, but nothing has stuck -- and he doesn’t need a Valentine’s Day dance, a celebration of romance and _love_ , to remind him that another year of singledom has passed by. 

The song switches to some upbeat pop tune he’s heard on the radio nonstop lately. He’s about to roll his eyes -- god, he’s being a brooding _twat_ tonight -- but then he catches sight of someone. A man. On the other side of the gymnasium. He’s standing by the refreshments and looking distinctly out of place amongst the younger crowd. 

The first thing Harry notices is that he’s very handsome. He looks older than Harry -- not by much, but there’s a little gray around his temples -- and just as uncomfortable as him. He’s bobbing his head along to the beat while he swirls the punch ladle in the bowl. A student comes by for a drink and he smiles brightly at her, pouring it into a plastic cup and handing it to the girl happily. Once she’s gone, his shoulders hunch again as he looks down at his watch. 

Harry’s been staring for over a minute now. The man must sense it because he looks up as the song switches tempos and locks eyes with Harry.

The lights are dim and he’s not very close to him, but he can tell already that his eyes are beautiful. As is all of him, really. He’s short and very compact, solidly built but wiry, dressed in black slacks and a simple grey button-up. His hair is long, parted to the left and tucked behind his ears. His thin lips curve up in a smile as he waves at Harry. Right. He’s staring.

Harry waves back shyly and looks away, toeing his boots along the hardwood floor. He’s 31 and a boy is making him nervous. He scrunches up his eyebrows and scoffs. 

He’s 31. And there’s a boy. Screw it.

He’s not entirely sure the best way to attract the attention of an adult at a gathering of teenagers. The DJ switches the song to one he loves, an upbeat number about living life to the fullest or something endearingly cliche like that. So he doesn’t really think his next action through. He dances.

Well. Dancing is a bit of a strong term. He lacks any form of coordination, but he tries. He raises his arms above his head, hands held in fists, while he pivots his hips from side to side. He shakes his arms along to the beat, keeping his face blank while he glances up at the man.

He’s the one staring now, head cocked to the side in amusement while he watches Harry’s jerky movements. He turns and says a few words to a woman at his side, handing her the ladle and walking off to the edge of the gym, resting against the wall with his arms crossed. He raises his eyebrows at Harry and nods his head forward, gesturing for him to go on.

Harry grins, letting his dimple pop, while he hams it up, popping his hips from side to side. He unfolds his fists and breaks out the big guns -- he points his fingers in the air and starts finger dancing in tune to his movements. He kicks out his legs a little and grooves to the beat, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the delighted smile on the other man’s face. 

The man -- Handsome, he decides to call him, since he doesn’t know his name -- starts to clap from where he stands against the wall, rooting Harry on. Harry giggles to himself and bites his lip, trying to hide his blush. 

He decides to switch it up, planting his feet on the floor about two feet apart and bringing his arms down at his waist. He crooks his arms and punches them out in front of him, swiveling his hips and shifting his weight from foot to foot with each movement. 

Conscious of Handsome watching every move he makes, he then rests each fist on his hips and starts to jump from side to side, bobbing his head in time to each shake of his arse. 

Handsome throws his head back and claps, shooting Harry a thumbs up in approval. Harry takes that as a cue to pause, curl each hand into a thumbs up, and begin his Signature Move. Well, his second Signature Move. He’s not sure it would be appropriate to turn around and rest his hands on his knees while he shakes his arse at the man across the gymnasium. He’s at a school function, after all. Also, he’s been told he looks less like he’s dancing and more like he’s imitating sex, which. True.

Nevertheless, he breaks out his favorite awful dance move. He swings his arms straight in front of him, bending his knees in tandem with his arms, bringing one hand down to his thigh while the other swings above his head. 

He’s really getting into it, pleased by the sparkle in Handsome’s eyes, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns and sees his daughter standing there with a horrified look on her face.

“Hi sweetie,” Harry chirps, only slowing his movements a little. “Your night going well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she says. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Harry frowns and shrugs. “Trying to get that boy’s attention over there.” He nods over to Handsome who’s watching the exchange with thinly-veiled interest. 

Raina looks across the room at the man and then smiles secretly. “That _boy_ is Amy’s father. He’s like 35, Dad. Why don’t you talk to him instead of standing here and embarrassing me?”

Harry pouts at her and finally stops, clasping his hands in front of him and biting his lip. “Do you think he’d like me?”

She groans and rolls her eyes, stepping away from Harry and back towards her friends. “ _Talk_ to him. And stop dancing.”

Harry sighs and nods, trying to work up the courage to approach him. He winds up just standing there, however, staring down at his shoes and avoiding eye contact. When he risks a glance up, Handsome is staring at him with worry, but that clears into a smile once Harry looks at him. He seems to be waiting for another dance move, but Harry just stands there, too nervous to walk forward. (Which is really weird, actually, because -- not to toot his own horn -- Harry is a very self-assured man capable of giving presentations to millionaires at work and performing his own songs in front of complete strangers at clubs. What is this man _doing_ to him?)

When he seems to get that Harry isn’t going to break out anymore dance moves, Handsome gives him a speculative look. Abruptly, he kicks off from the wall and takes a few steps closer, bobbing his head and doing some odd gesture with his hands. He looks a bit like he’s stretching and boxing something in with his hands but -- oh. He changes it up and starts shaking his hips while he holds one hand out like he’s patting something. Then he raises one above his head, miming what Harry thinks is supposed to be him screwing in a lightbulb. He’s _dancing._

Harry smiles and puts his hands behind his back, preening while the man dances foolishly for him. 

He gives him the perfect chance to be brave and walk over when the man emphatically mimics swinging a lasso, twisting his hand around in the air and then throwing it to Harry. Harry jerks like he’s been caught, dramatically gaping at the man and stumbling forward while he pulls on the imaginary rope. Harry navigates through the teenaged bodies, shuffling and holding his arms out like he’s not in control of his movements. When they’re within five feet of each other, the man drops the imaginary rope and grins, waving at Harry. 

“Can’t believe I had to drag you over here, darling,” he comments. “Playing hard to get suits you.”

His accent is thick, voice reedy and lovely and very much something Harry would enjoy hearing in the bedroom. First thing’s first, though. “What’s your name? I’ve been calling you Handsome in my head for the past fifteen minutes.” He grins and tucks his hair behind his ear, twirling a strand with his fingers. He feels sixteen again. 

“Louis,” he replies, beaming at the compliment. “And you?”

“Harry.” He flutters his eyelashes. “I liked your moves.”

Louis’ eyes crinkle as he laughs and scrunches his nose. “You were a sight yourself, Curly. Haven’t seen moves like that since I accidentally spent an hour watching a documentary about newborn calves. Very nice.”

Harry blushes. “So…” he trails off, looking down at the confetti hearts scattered across the floor. “Er, happy early Valentine’s Day?”

Louis hums and nods. “You too. Have any plans? Got a hot date you’re looking forward to?” 

_Not unless the hot date is you,_ he nearly says. “Oh, no. Just me and some takeout and _Love Actually_ on my couch, probably. You? Have a...spouse to wine and dine?” He’s fishing for information, but. Louis did it first.

Louis smirks and shakes his head in response. “Nope,” he answers. “Little jealous of your night, actually. _Love Actually_ sounds fun.”

Now would be the time to take the plunge. Invite Louis over for dinner, seduce him with deliciously cooked chicken and pasta, open up the bottle of _real_ wine he stores downstairs instead of the grape juice he usually drinks. They could watch the movie and maybe kiss a little and then have more dates and fall in love and get married and adopt a kitten for their daughters (who is he kidding, for _Harry_ really). 

“Would you like to dance?” he squeaks instead.

Louis holds out his hand for Harry to take and leads him to the corner of the gymnasium where teachers are less likely to find them and question them on why they aren’t patrolling the crowd. The music switches to a slow, romantic ballad that sends a pang shooting through Harry’s heart. Louis turns to him and wraps his arms around his shoulders while Harry places his hands on the small of Louis’ back. Up close, Harry can really pay attention to the details of Louis’ face; his blue eyes sparkle even in the dark, soft and beautifully contrasted against the crinkles of his eyes. The very subtle and very attractive gray in his hair makes his knees feel a little weak. He looks dignified and handsome, but the hint of a tattoo he spies underneath his rolled-up sleeve makes him smile.

“Bit of a secret bad boy, aren’t you?” Harry asks, looking at the ink. 

Louis shrugs. “I’m a little hardcore,” he says airily. “Don’t know if you can handle that.”

Harry giggles and shakes his head. “Might be a struggle, but I’d like to try.”

Louis raises his right eyebrow, looking interested. “Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Harry hums. He feels the surge of confidence that he’d been lacking just minutes earlier. “There’s a very comfortable spot on my couch with your name on it if you’re not too busy on Valentine’s Day. Dinner, movie, maybe some light snogg--.” Louis cuts him off, leaping forward and kissing him. It’s brief, just a slight press of their lips, but Harry’s mouth tingles pleasantly nonetheless, a wave of happiness crashing through his body. 

Louis breaks the kiss first, rocking back onto his heels and grinning. “Sounds lovely. Not sure I can wait two weeks for a first date, though. How about tomorrow, Curly?”

Harry pretends to mull it over, tapping one finger against his chin. He leans down to whisper into Louis’ ear, “Tomorrow’s my birthday.” This is the best present he could have asked for. “Yes.”

***

A little over a year later, on February 14th, Harry and Louis regale guests at their wedding with a recreation of their first dance. It’s a little embarrassing, but Harry can’t bring himself to care about anything except the look of love on his husband’s face. 

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm suffering from awful writer's block rn and i have about 4 unfinished fics in my docs but hoooopefully i'll have actual smut to post by friday!!!!!!! 
> 
> hope this wasn't awful pals! reach me @cheerleaderharry on tumblr :D


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